


Seriously though, two can play that fucking game!

by WeCanDoIt



Series: Now is this just fiction or is it real, 'cause baby, you gotta make up your pretty mind... [2]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, References to Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, Van Days, because that would describe that story pretty well.., can i make that certain smell a tag, hot desperate sexy times, that is so fucking disgusting but fucking intoxicating at the same time, that mixture of adrenaline and booze and sweat and cigarette smoke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 12:02:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeCanDoIt/pseuds/WeCanDoIt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What are we doing here, Frank?” Gerard hisses and digs his nails into Frank’s shoulders, his voice raspy from singing and his pupils dilated; his long hair sticking to his face and his lips wet, open and panting and Frank wants to sink his teeth into the soft flesh and <em>taste</em> it; taste the salt on Gerard’s skin and he wants to pull his stupid hair and throw him around, show him who he belongs to and then <em>fuck him,</em> quick, hushed and dirty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seriously though, two can play that fucking game!

Okay, so maybe it was no coincidence.  
Seriously.

It may have been coincidental when Frank had brushed his hand against Gerard’s ass for the first time some weeks ago and well, maybe he _hadn’t meant_ to give it a good squeeze again only a few days after that.  
And o-fucking-kay, maybe Gerard _had_ been overreacting and picturing things every time Frank’s drunken gaze had lingered a little bit too long on him for comfort, but then again, the way he sometime let his eyes roam over Gerard’s body like it was a delicious looking dish of dessert really wasn’t normal anymore. And between all the stares and the accidental groping there still was that thing that happened a couple of weeks ago on the road. Yeah, that thing with the ice cubes. The thing where Frank had once again managed to confuse the heck out of Gerard by sucking on his neck like a horny teenager with a mouthful of icy water; the fucking thing that still makes Gerard’s pants tighten uncomfortably when he thinks of it, whether he wants it or not.

But every single fucking time Frank had afterwards either sobered up or just acted as if nothing out of the ordinary ever happened. It was frustrating, to say the least. And when it comes down to it, Gerard really prefers not to confront Frank, because what if he really had been reading things into it and Frank was just messing around? ‘Cause if so, good luck with scraping up the bit of dignity left from the floor. Because the thing about Frank is his motherfucking closeness to others – he’s always been a touchy-feely person around people he feels comfortable with. It just seems that he touches Gerard a little more often than others. When Frank for example promptly decides he wants something from the trunk right fucking when they are driving at full speed down the highway, and he’d then proceed to wriggle his way over the backseat he never has any problems with climbing over Mikey or shoving his crotch into Bob’s face; the odd thing’s just that every time he comes into contact with Gerard, he lingers just a tad bit longer; not enough to raise any suspicion from the guys, but enough to make Gerard’s skin prickle. 

But maybe that’s just Gerard’s sex-deprived mind playing tricks on him. Because seriously, being on tour for months straight and constantly being squished into a tiny van with four other dudes and a ton of equipment are not exactly perfect conditions on getting laid. Plus, jacking off in private has become an act of near impossibility. And Gerard has no idea how the others managed to stay balanced like they did (especially Ray, that guy seemed to be in a constant zen-mode, it was uncanny), when Gerard himself felt antsy and uneasy whenever he was at least remotely sober. 

Also, Frank hasn’t exactly been helping. In fact, he’s been making things even worse.  
Like right now for example. 

“ _That_ , was fucking amazing!” Gerard breathes and runs his hand through the dirty, sweaty mop of hair that was currently plastered over his forehead and sticking to the back of his neck. He still feels the beat thumping in his veins and the light in his eyes; the screams and cheers of the audience still echoing in his chest. The world spins a little when he steps out into the backstage area and he closes his eyes for a second to gather back his balance. Maybe drinking before (and during) a show wasn’t that good of an idea, but on the other hand – it gives you that strange, yet fucking amazing feeling of loosing yourself completely out there, pumping you up and making you give everything on stage and then leaves you with that kind of dull but intoxicating numbness when you step off, retreat backstage and feel the adrenaline wearing off, leaving your body in tiny waves. Gerard sighs contently and slumps onto the dirty ground. 

“You bet it was”, Ray chimes, hopping off the last step and slouching down right next to Mikey, who is currently clutching onto a bottle of probably piss warm water like it’s life support. “The only thing that really bugs me about summer festivals is the friggin’ lack of hygiene”, Ray sighs. 

“You tell me”, Frank first pops up his head and soon follows to join them on the floor, a towel around his neck. “I’ve been craving a fucking shower since for-fucking-ever”, he groans and fiddles for the battered pack of smokes he’s hidden somewhere in the depths of his pants before the show. 

“Pussies”; Gerard huffs and leans over his brother in order to make grabby hands at Frank’s smokes. 

Frank just snorts and finally pulls out a cigarette, sticking it between his teeth and lighting it; sighing as the smoke begins to fill his lungs.  
“The first drag always _is_ the best”, he sighs and exhales; “By the way Gerard, Brian wants to see you later.”

“So what-?”, Gerard slurs and now he’s pretty much in Mikey’s lap but still out of reach for Frank’s smokes, who doesn’t even bat an eyelash at Gerard’s desperate attempts at snatching one. Mikey finally has enough and shoves Gerard off him, snapping “Gee, get off me, you’re one big puddle of sweat and you’re sticky and it’s fucking gross”, but Gerard doesn’t really pay attention to him because there’s Frank, watching him from where he’s hunched against the front wheel of some tour truck and his gaze is piercing in a way that makes the hair at the back of Gerard’s neck stand up. 

And while he slowly leans back, Gerard wonders if he’s still imagining these things or if there _is_ fucking something in the way Frank is eyeing him; but Frank never breaks his gaze and neither does Gerard. Until a mere second later where Frank just leans back, taking another drag from his cigarette and acting all casual like he and his lead singer weren’t just eyefucking like crazy. And Gerard feels frustration bubbling up in his throat so hard he has to keep himself from throwing his hands up and groaning.  
What the fucking hell was Frank’s deal?  
What did he get out of staring like that; staring like he’d be undressing you with just his gaze? And then – snap – and he’s paying no attention to you at all? What the hell? Gerard feels bitchy, because if he hates something, it’s being ignored. He catches Mikey’s sideway glance, silently pleading him _Gerard, do us all a favor and let it go for Christ’s sake, I don’t know what it is but let it go, just for once_ , but Gerard is having none of it. 

Because seriously, two could play that fucking game. Gerard sighs a little, drawling “What did Brian want from me?” while slowly dipping his head back and raking his hand through the wet strands of hair that were still sticking through his forehead and _damn_ , there is Frank staring again, but this time he’s looking so damn hungry, like he could devour Gerard whole. 

Never leaving Gerard’s eyes; Frank leans forward and slowly huffs out smoke. “I’ve no fucking idea, but I’m taking a wild guess that it’s because you were too damn wasted onstage again?” Frank can’t suppress a little smirk at the way Gerard’s expression visibly sours. 

“Whatever”, Gerard spits and gets up, swaying only a little. Bob quirks up his eyebrow at him but Gerard ignores it, staring Frank down for a heartbeat before turning away and stomping off, every bit the diva he is. 

Just before disappearing in between the parked cars and tents he hears Bob barking “What the fuck?” and Mikey sighing exasperatedly and someone getting up, and he walks faster, his heartbeat speeding up with every step. 

Gerard barely reaches the end of the closed off backstage area when he practically _feels_ Frank’s breath in the back of his neck. He bites down onto his bottom lip to keep himself from smirking and starts walking faster, ducking in between the parked buses and trucks, the faint music from the stages behind him echoing his frantic heartbeat. 

After a while of silent chase he finally stops, turns around and leans back against the side wall of a trailer. He isn’t surprised at all to find Frank standing right in front of him; when he probably should have been. He doesn’t push Frank away when he’s all over him a mere second later, when he probably should have done that, too.  
 _It’s wrong,_ Gerard thinks, _and weird._

But he feels it right there, that strange electric spark that rattles through him and makes everything too loud, too bright and too intense in the blink of an eye. That odd feeling that’s battling his tiredness and exhaustion and forces him back on his feet, leaving his skin prickling with a funny, burning itch he usually only knew from when drugs were wearing off. 

_Why are we doing this? We are friends; we’re in a band together, why the fuck are we doing this?_

And while Frank is completely silent; while the whole fucking parking lot seems completely silent even though there's occasional chants and yells ripping through the hot, dry air; and even though it's too dark to even properly make out Frank’s features, Gerard knows that whatever he's feeling, Frank is feeling it too.  
And he can't; he just can't keep himself from moaning when Frank backs him up against the cold surface of the trailer and it doesn't sound hot or seductive, it sounds desperate, _needy._

\---

“Frankie”, Gerard whimpers into the air of yet another hot summer night as he finds himself backed up against the grimy, slick surface of godknowswhat; and the words get stuck in his throat again. Frank stands right in front of him, at arm’s length, his hands on Gerard’s shoulders and he’s watching him, panting, sweating, with messy hair and open lips. Gerard suddenly feels so dizzy he fears for his knees to fucking give in and damn, it hadn’t felt that bad onstage, but maybe he really shouldn’t have drunk that much. It must be the booze. Yeah, it must be the booze that’s currently giving him a raging hard-on and weakens his knees with the sheer feeling of _want;_ because what else could it be? So yeah, it must be the booze - or the drugs. Because Frank is his best friend and you’re _not_ supposed to feel this way about your friend. And your friend is _not_ supposed to look at you like he’d eat you for dessert.  
God, how the fuck did that happen?  
How did his best friend become his absolute turn on? And when the fuck did he start behaving like a wanton slut every time Frank gets his hands on him?

The world starts spinning again and Gerard has to grip onto the surface behind him to keep himself from tripping over, because he’s feeling confused and conflicted and a little bit more wasted than he wants to and the fact that Frank’s as shitfaced as him and still fixing Gerard with a gaze so open and starving isn’t really helping at-fucking-all. 

“Frankie”, Gerard tries again, his voice a little weaker now but he feels like he has to get it out, they _have_ to talk about it sometime, because this can’t go on like it does or it will end badly. Also, one of the guys could walk by looking for them any moment; they both disappeared without a word after all.  
“Frankie, we have to-“, Gerard starts, but gets cut off when Frank flips him around and slams him against the cold surface of their van. Gerard loses his train of thought at the feeling of Frank’s body pressed close to his, his chest sticking to Gerard’s back, his breath hot in his ear and the dry heat of the night becomes even more suffocating. Gerard is convinced they are both all kinds of disgusting right now; sticky, sweaty, grimy and probably reeking of booze, but somehow it intensifies the whole situation even further.

Gerard tries to even his breathing, to not let show just how turned on he really is, but once he feels Frank’s hips grind against his ass he can’t help but stifle a moan and push back, squeezing his eyes tightly, feeling the shame of thinking about how it would be rippling through him; how it would feel like having Frank inside him, fucking him into the ground.  
It _must_ be the booze, or the pot, or all the weeks without proper sex, but Gerard feels like he's about to come in his pants, right there, right now, completely untouched. 

“Frankie”, he tries for the third time, urgency audible in his voice and he feels Frank tighten his grip. And then Frank grunts in surprise when Gerard suddenly spins around; getting the upper hand back again and smashing him against the door of an old pickup that’s so conveniently parked next to their van. 

“What are we doing here, Frank?” Gerard hisses and digs his nails into Frank’s shoulders, his voice raspy from singing and his pupils dilated; his long hair sticking to his face and his lips wet, open and panting and Frank wants to sink his teeth into the soft flesh and _taste it;_ taste the salt on Gerard’s skin and he wants to pull his stupid hair and throw him around, show him who he belongs to and then fuck him, quick, hushed and dirty. 

No answer. Gerard feels another emotion bubbling up inside his throat; fucking heated rage. Because Frank is staring at him, scrutinizing him with one of his perfect eyebrows quirked up and that little crooked smirk of his etched on his mouth and Gerard snaps; grabs Frank and shoves him back against the metal of the car door hard and relishes in the satisfaction of Frank gasping when his back collides with the surface and the wind gets knocked out of his lungs. 

And for a moment Frank stays still, panting heavily; eyes fixed on Gerard who is smirking down at him, _his Gerard,_ that narcissistic little bastard who hides his towering arrogance behind a layer of self-consciousness. His eyes flicker over Gerard’s perfect mouth and his small, pointed nose - his whole face that’s too fucking pretty in such an unconventional way and his stupid long, dirty hair and he pushes him off, grabs a fistful of it and yanks him back. Gerard squeals, and it’s music to his ears. 

“Get. in. the. van.”, Frank growls and Gerard closes his eyes and feels his knees go weak again because never, ever had someone treated him like that before and he’d never known that this, that being manhandled and pushed and shoved around would turn him into a desperate, wanton mess. 

“If you’d release my fucking hair”, Gerard spits, “I could try to fetch the keys”

Frank releases it and Gerard has to fight the urge to massage his scalp because damn, that fucking _hurt,_ and usually no one – repeat: no fucking one – got to touch Gerard’s hair like that. But Frank just smiles and crosses his arms, waiting for Gerard to find the goddamn car keys and finally open the friggin van door so they could get on with it.

“I’m sorry princess, did I hurt you?” Frank mocks and trails his index finger down the sweat soaked back of Gerard’s shirt clad spine and Gerard bites his tongue to keep the desperate little sighs inside his throat. After an eternity of fiddling around with slippery fingers he finally has the van door worked open and turns around to grin at Frank, but Frank just grabs his hair once again and hisses “Get in there, bitch” and Gerard is sure he never scrambled that fast into the backseat of a car ever before. 

As soon as they are both inside Frank slides the door shut and locks it, even though he’s still not 100% fucking sure of what he’s about to do, he’s not going to be disturbed for fuck’s sake!  
Gerard meanwhile flops back against the seat, fisting one hand in his hair; breathing going ragged. He closes his eyes; heart thumping loud against his ribcage in anticipation, because they’d never gone that far before. It had always been sloppy kisses and messy handjobs – not even once anything more. But this right here – there was no fucking going back now.  
And then Frank rips him from his thoughts when he dips down and connects his lips with Gerard’s, kissing him almost brutally and biting down on his soft lips just like he wanted to before; swallowing Gerard’s small, surprised whimper. 

It feels like 2000 degrees inside and for once Gerard actually curses them for being a fucking band and therefore having the whole back of the van including the trunk stuffed with equipment so there is almost no place at all and you happen to constantly bump your elbow, knee or any other limb of choice.  
So really, being cramped into the backseat of the van with Frank practically on his lap and the stupid leather sticking to his sweat soaked back isn’t really the most comfortable situation he could imagine himself in. 

But then Frank pulls off his shirt and reveals his numerous friggin tattoos Gerard’s always been secretly jealous of and he just runs his lips down the salty skin of Frank’s left sleeve, because there the tattoo work came out best and to say the artist inside him is turned on by all the swirls and colors wouldn’t even be a lie. When Franks hands snake their way down to the hem of Gerard’s shirt he stops him, feeling his cheeks heat up from embarrassment.  
He opens his mouth to say something stupid when Frank cuts him off.

“Gerard”, he says and his voice sounds delicious, low and raspy and fucking needy as he pants, “even a complete retard like you must have by now caught up with the fact that you fucking _turn.me.on._ So can we please for once stop with the body issues?” To that Gerard blinks dumbly a few times but doesn’t resist when Frank finally pulls his shirt over his head and messes his hair up even more. 

“Way better”, Frank grunts and starts working on Gerard’s belt. And that’s when Gerard realizes that he’s more than just a little drunk, in fact he’s fucking wasted and god, he had been onstage like that- he gulps and the whole car starts spinning and he suddenly feels knocked over; overwhelmed with his surroundings.  
He doesn’t even fully realize what’s happening until Frank pushes him down on the seat and starts crawling in between his legs.  
Bare legs.  
Naked.  
How the fuck did he manage to get them naked so fast?

Frank stops for a second and presses his forehead against Gerard’s, breathing softly.  
“Sure?” he whispers and Gerard draws a shuddery breath.  
“Sure.”  
There really was no turning back now. Gerard tries to relax himself and suddenly he’s glad he’s intoxicated because it makes relaxing so much easier. He opens his eyes to stare up at Frank in the dark, gaze flickering over his silhouette, the short strands of his hair, the outline of his arms and even though he’s managed to distract himself he panics a little when he suddenly feels a finger against his entrance and he gasps “w- fuck- lube? Condom?” but Frank only chuckles. 

“Relax, sugar”, he mocks; “so far it’s only a finger, and besides, while you zoned out on me before, lying still like a virgin and making me doing all the work I managed to get a fuckin’ condom on!”  
Gerard feels another annoying flush creeping up his cheeks and sticks his tongue out at Frank, only to gasp again when he feels it against his hot skin, cold and slick, pushing into him.  
He bites the inside of his cheek and spreads his legs as much further as the backseat of a car would allow, trying not to think of how he’s probably looking right now, with widely spread thighs and trembling legs; cherry blush on his cheeks and ears. 

“Look at me”, Frank demands but his voice betrays him. And Gerard really _feels_ like a virgin again, too scared to do anything besides lying there, squirming, not even dare to look at Frank properly. Then he mentally kicks himself and pulls Frank down into another sloppy kiss, with too much tongue and only breaks it to hiss at the intrusion of the third finger working him open. 

“Okay, okay, fuck, I’m ready”, Gerard grunts impatiently and throws his head back against the leather. Frank only chuckles, lines himself up and pushes in; relishing in the way Gerard’s eyes suddenly snap open in surprise and the way his features screw up as if he were in pain, not used to the intrusion of something so big and Frank grins at the thought of being the first one to deflower Gerard like that.  
He pushes in just a little and stops there for a second, asking “Everything alright, Gee? You need a moment to adjust?” 

Gerard nods frantically, eyes still screwed shut but then Frank’s sadistic side wins over for a second and he thrusts forward, burying himself all the way inside Gerard, just to see it once more – and there it is, Gerard’s pretty eyes snapping open again, the breath getting caught in his throat and his lips rounding in a perfect o-shape. Then Gerard screams, he actually screams out loud because now the stretch becomes uncomfortable and he gasps for air a few times. Frank quickly clasps a hand over Gerard’s mouth and hisses “Goddammit Gee, people are gonna think I’m fucking raping you!”, but Gerard suddenly looks furious, furrowing his brows and biting down hard on Frank’s palm, who releases him with a curse. 

“Well Frankie”, Gerard spits and writhes beneath him, “to me it just seemed a little like that when I told you I needed a moment and you just went all the way” – he’s seething. 

Frank chews on his lower lip guiltily for a moment before parting his lips into another shit-eating grin as he pushes Gerard’s thighs up against his chest, slightly slurring “Sorry Gee, I got a little carried away”. 

At least he sounds honest, Gerard thinks. Nonetheless, Frank’s open brutality both turns him on and scares him a little.  
“I’m gonna make it up to you”, Frank purrs and pulls out a little, which has Gerard hissing at the burn once more. And when Frank thrusts in again, a little deeper than before, Gerard starts actually doubting for a second that this has been such a good idea, but then Frank hits a spot that makes Gerard feel like his brain just exploded into a cascade of sparks and ecstasy pills. 

And there, Frank hits that spot again and Gerard moans, loud and filthy, and he’s sure it can be heard on the whole damn parking lot.

“God-fucking-dammit Gerard”, Frank half-pants, half-chuckles and sits back up, of course hitting his head. “Fuck”, he groans and tries to bend backwards over the handbrake in order to reach the stereo and Gerard whines exasperatedly and covers his face with his hands. It really isn’t as arousing as it should have been, with Frank awkwardly shuffling around trying to reach the damn stereo and slipping out of him in the process. Once he’s got it on and the speakers are blasting some angry, too loud music – probably to cover up Gerard’s moans – Frank relaxes visibly.  
He crawls back over and stares down at Gerard, another one of his huge, goofy grins plastered on his face and it’s the hottest thing Gerard’s ever seen. And despite the dingy light Gerard wants to see Frank, wants to drink in every feature of his face while he’s fucking him into oblivion, so he wriggles out and awkwardly (with a lot of limbs colliding with headrests and doorhandles because it’s too fucking cramped inside that damn car) switches their positions so Frank ends up sitting on the backseat with Gerard hovering over him, his thighs spread around Frank’s hips, his knees on the sticky leather. 

“Ugh, I’ve never done this before”, Gerard breathes into the hot, dry air and feels his face flush and his head spin once again; his words coming out slurred. “But I, uhm, wanna try it so bad-“  
And before Frank is able to do anything Gerard sits down on his dick with no further warning; his eyes widen, his jaw goes slack and then his gaze gets unfocused and he looks so fucking overwhelmed it would’ve probably swept Frank right off his feet if he weren’t sitting already. 

“God that feels as good as I imagined”, Gerard chokes out after a few seconds of relishing in the feeling of being filled up, “if that’s what it’s like for girls, I’m getting really jealous, because I”, he firmly grips Frank’s shoulders and lifts himself up a little before rocking down again. “never.wanna.feel.anything.else.again, GOD!”

Okay, now Frank’s sure he won’t really last any longer with Gerard fucking himself on his dick with his eyes closed and his head hanging back; and because it’d be fucking unfair if he was so caught up in his own orgasm he would totally miss out on Gerard losing it, he tilts him back a little and finally touches him.  
Gerard releases a high pitched whine because he really thinks he can’t take anymore; his pace’s becoming sloppy and out of rhythm and he’s feeling so exhausted he just wants release.  
Frank has to smile at the way Gerard’s face screws up just like it always does when he’s drawing something in deep concentration – and with one last twist and another long, shuddery moan Gerard finally comes all over their chests and that’s when Frank is done too. 

Gerard feels so fucking high he doesn’t even gather when exactly Frank managed to turn off the music, not to mention put back on his clothes and leave the car; because he’s still lying there butt naked on the backseat, with trembling thighs and a dull ache in his ass. But once the feeling of sheer ecstasy wears off, it gets replaced by something far uglier. 

“No”, Gerard whimpers. “Please no” and he curls up into himself. The thoughts are racing through his mind and suddenly he feels more nauseous than before; dizzy, and most of all – empty.  
“Fuck”, Gerard tries to sit up and fetch his clothes, hissing at the sting in his backside. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ”, he mutters over and over again while bringing his trembling hand down to gingerly touch his ass – just to recoil from the feeling of his own used, slick flesh.  
And suddenly, he’s crying. Which surely must have too, been the booze. It’s mere seconds and Gerard is fucking sobbing while pulling up his pants, because fuck, what has he done? What have they done? Kissing and fooling around is one thing, but this? This is fucking madness!

This has the potential to destroy the band. This has the potential to fucking rip it apart and what for? For a quick, hushed fuck with his best friend? – But wait, that friendship’s probably passé as well. 

“Shit”, Gerard chokes and suddenly he feels like he’s about to throw up. “Shit, shit, shit-“, he at least manages to yank on his shirt, open the side door and scramble out of the car quickly before he loses control and drops down on the concrete, hurling.

“Gerard, there you are man, fuck what’s-“ Bob suddenly comes around the corner only to be met with a scene he’s seen too fucking often lately – “Fuck man, what happened?” Gerard looks up at him apologetically and wipes his chin, mumbling “M’sorry, Bob-”

Bob sighs heavily and runs his hand over his face. “Actually I came to get you cuz we still have to do autographs and meet a few fans, but something tells me that wouldn’t be such a good idea for you now, would it?” 

“I dunno Bob”, Gerard half-slurs, half-sobs; trying to get up again. “I think I- I messed everything up, Bob”, he hiccups hysterically and Bob steps forward to keep Gerard from tripping over.

“Gee, you really shouldn’t drink so much”, he mumbles worriedly, ushering Gerard back into the van. 

“I know, I’m sorry Bob, I’m sorry – don’t tell Mikey, promise me Bob, that you won’t tell Mikey” Gerard babbles and, once in the car, curls up on the backseat once more. 

Bob sighs heavily and shoves a bottle of water into Gerard’s trembling fingers.  
“Okay, okay, I won’t tell friggin Mikey, but you promise me that you drink some water and stay in the fucking van unless you have to puke again, got it?”

Gerard nods faintly and closes his eyes. Bob looks down on the mop of raven hair splayed on the leather seat for a second before he silently shakes his head and closes the car door.

He knows that Gerard is having serious drinking problems, they all know, but things are starting to really get out of control lately. Also, Bob just can’t seem to shake off the feeling that this time it’s got something to do with Frank. Because Frank was the one who went after Gerard when he left earlier and now he was nowhere to be seen.

By the time Bob gets back to the others Brian is beaming at him like a child on Christmas day.  
“This is a good day to be alive, guys, because you were fucking amazing out there and we sold a hell lotta merch today! Still, there’s one thing yet to do – you ready to meet some fans?” 

“Where’s Gerard?”, Mikey’s voice suddenly cuts through the air. Count on him to smell it 10 miles against the wind when something was wrong with his brother. 

“Uh, he’s not feeling really well, so I told him to stay in the van!” Bob says, shifting uneasily. 

“What the hell do you mean he’s not feeling well?”, Brian snaps, smile vanishing from his face. “I fucking told him a thousand times to stop drinking so much onstage; he’s brought that onto himself so he can fucking man up and meet some fans for fuck’s sake!” 

“Leave him be” Bob says, his voice calm but firm and Brian startles. He then sighs heavily and rakes his hand through his hair. 

“Fine, whatever. Just – where is Frank for god’s sake? I swear, your fucking band is gonna be the death of me-“, he barks and swears when he hears his phone ring but hurries to pick up the call nonetheless. 

“I’m here!” Frank suddenly pops up, fringe sticking to his forehead and a flush on his face as if he just ran a marathon.  
“Where’s Gerard?” he suddenly asks, sounding slightly worried, and Bob only starts getting even more suspicious. 

“Back in the van”, Bob replies, eyeing Frank closely. “And where exactly have you been?” 

At that Frank’s ears actually go fire engine red and damn, it needs something to make Frank Iero blush. “Haven’t you been going after him?” Bob crosses his arms. He doesn’t notice Mikey’s frown or the way Ray starts uncomfortably shifting from one foot to the other. 

“Uh, no, haven’t seen him”, Frank huffs, sounding breathless.  
Just as Bob opens his mouth to voice his suspicion Brian cuts him off. 

“Whatever, I have no lead singer to give autographs which is bad enough but I have all of you motherfuckers and none of you is going anywhere. We’ll deal with Gerard afterwards, but for now, you’re gonna fucking move your asses”, with that, he starts ushering them away. 

 

Frank throws one last uneasy glance back into the van’s direction before he feels Bob’s scolding gaze on him and its making his skin crawl.  
Bob knows something. Or at least he’s _suspecting_ something.

 

Fuck. He and Gerard really _did_ mess up this time.

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this in the midst of a frustration tantrum I was throwing right before my final exam two weeks ago(I fucking passed it, yay!) and then continued writing whenever I had a break from studying/writing research papers.  
> Please note that I'm knowingly violating several canon circumstances to my likings - because I'm a jerk like that. 
> 
> Now I don't like to leave loose ends so I'm uploading this before I get back to continue with 'A drink for the horror that I'm in' - so no worries, I'm still writing that story (◡‿◡✿) 
> 
>  
> 
> Also, I have no fucking idea why even my smut turns out angsty in the end - don't judge me! XD


End file.
